Sherlock Drabbles
by ShadowKat-Shidobukatsu
Summary: Sherlock drabbles crossposted from my tumblr. Themes vary, all centered around Sherlock/John.
1. Harry Potter AU

Sherlock sat by himself at one of the many scattered tables in the library, sniffing quietly in distaste at anyone who came close to sitting near him.

It was no secret that the second year held himself higher than the rest of the school, putting himself on a pedestal above all others. Some thought it was, perhaps, because he was a Slytherin that made him so. Believing, perhaps, that he must have held onto some archaic notion of pureblooded supremacy or some other such nonsense.

It had, of course, nothing to do with that in the least bit. Sherlock really could care less if someone happened to be a muggle born witch or wizard, or if they came from the longest line of pureblooded witches and wizards out there.

Oh, no. Sherlock held himself on high simply because everyone else was an idiot.

They all pandered to the latest fads, polluting their brains with unnecessary clutter of gossip and fashion, horrible tv programs and who in the celebrity would was going out with who. It was nauseating.

So, of course, when an enthusiastic, fourth year Griffindor, with messy blonde hair plopped himself down across from him at the table, scattering his books around him in an obvious move to mean he was going to be staying for a while, Sherlock let out a low snarl of disapproval.

The Griffindor glanced up at him at the noise, blinking startled blue eyes at him, his head tilting slightly to the side in curiosity, much like a dog would. "Was someone else going to sit here?" he asked with the motion.

Sherlock simply scowled, before having to shake his head at the inquiry, letting out a small puff of frustrated air. "No," he replied waspishly.

The red and gold bedazzled student simply smiled at him warmly. "Then no harm, no foul, ay?" he said, chuckling a little, before opening several of his books and partially unrolling a scroll which already had a good ten inches of writting on it.

Sherlock surveyed the books laid out in front of the boy, making a few mental notes of his physical appearance, a tiny sneer marking his lips once he came to a conclusion.

"You're Watson, from the Griffindor Quidditch team, aren't you," the Slytherin boy stated more than asked, "You do realize that the assignment you're currently working on for your muggle studies class only required you to write eight inches worth of parchment on the inner workings of the muggle medical system?" He hoped the disdain in his tone would drive the other boy away, to at least move to a different table, if not back to his dorm to finish his stupid paper.

"Oh, I know that," Watson said, continuing on with writing his paper, "I'm perfectly aware of my own assignment, thank you. And it's John, by the way. Only the team captain and the teachers call me Watson."

Sherlock sniffed again, scowling at the top of the blonde mop of hair in front of him. "If you're trying to get a rise out of me because of my reputation, it's not going to work. I'll simply leave," he snapped instead, disliking the thick boy across from him more and more as the seconds ticked by. "I am aware of your houses' general dislike of me, and no one sits with me. Ever. So, if this is some sort of lead up to a prank you and your so called friends are trying to pull, you can forget it. I will not be had." He shoved his chair back and stood as he began to close up his books and shove them back into his bag.

"Hey, now, wait!" John said, jerking his head up at the first slam of a text book, his quill making an ugly black streak across his parchment as he jerked. He dropped the feather and reached out to put a hand over one of Sherlock's as the boy went to grab his history of magic text. "I wasn't trying to upset you," he said quietly, only letting go of Sherlock's hand once he was sure the boy wasn't going to simply swipe all of his things off the table and bolt.

John sighed quietly, Sherlock eyeing him in distrust, lifting the text book in his hand to press against his chest. "Out with it, then," Sherlock snapped.

"Look," John started, before faltering and rubbing a hand over his face and trying again. "I…This is going to sound horrible, I know," he muttered, rocking back in his chair, "But I saw you sitting here by yourself, like you do every day. Like you do in the great hall, and when you're out in the courtyard. You walk everywhere by yourself, and I'm sure you sit by yourself in class, too."

"Are you a stalker?" Sherlock interrupted, wrinkling his nose at the other boy, who snorted loudly, stifling a laugh.

"Oh my god, no," the blonde said, his smile crooked, "It's just something I couldn't help noticing…Anyway. I felt sort of bad for you." He held up a hand to cease any objection from escaping Sherlock's mouth, "Not in the 'I pity you' sort of way, but the 'I want to be his friend', sort of way. You…Well, you looked like you could use a friend."

Sherlock snorted loudly, "And what gave you that idea?"

John's smile became a little less crooked and a little more sad. "Sometimes, when you don't think anyone is looking, and you're studying by yourself, you get this really far off look on your face. Like you're the only soul in the universe. And it looks really lonely."

This gave pause to Sherlock, a somewhat startled expression passing across his features as he slowly sunk back down into his seat.

The two of them sat silent for a good long minute, before Sherlock finally spoke again.

"I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot," he said, quietly at first, gaining a little more volume with confidence, the tiniest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lip, "My name is Sherlock Holmes. It's nice to meet you, John."

The blonde grinned and reached across the table to shake the hand offered to him.


	2. Winged John AU

Sherlock couldn't help but stare. He knew had little time to be dawdling, especially with the security camera down the hall due to come back online in only a matter of minutes. But…

The creature leaning against the side of the glass walled containment unit took no notice of his staring, its blank blue eyes staring into the empty space in front of it. No…Not it. Him. He. His.

He was staring into the middle distance, a thin rivulet of blood dried to the side of his face, obviously from a previously incurred blow to the side of his head. Trauma didn't look too bad there. Perhaps he was dazed? More likely. Though, with creatures like this, who didn't need to breath, it was so hard to tell.

_You have three minutes until you are on your own._  
-MH

Sherlock glanced down at his phone, sighing quietly, before bringing his gaze back up to the magnificent creature before him. Who was now staring intently straight at him.

"Do you want out of here?" Sherlock asked, stepping closer to the glass, looking over the thick iron collar wrapped around the poor beasts throat, obviously itchy and irritating, if the dark red lines bordering it on the others skin was anything to go by.

The man in the containment unit nodded quickly, flexing his large golden wings minutely behind him, looking eager at the proposition.

Sherlock took a single step back, taking a quick glance around, before yanking a fire extinguisher off the wall, and giving the unit a few sure hits, leaving a thick crack in the glass. He scowled and dropped the extinguisher in disappointment, before the other simply slammed his shoulder into the glass, and fell through into a heap on the floor. Just in time for the security system to come back online.

"Well," Sherlock huffed, before taking off, the winged man hot on his heels, "you certainly make a good impression."

The winged man grinned, catching up to Sherlock's side, his wings folded tight against his back as they ran through the halls. "The name's John," he said, easily without lack of breath.

"Sherlock," was his only reply as they burst out onto the grounds of the holding facility.


	3. Winged Sherlock AU

Sherlock snarled, plucking at the wing that had become entangled with an unlucky clothes line just this side of too low across the alleyway he'd been flying through.

"Amazing," he heard a breathless voice exclaim from behind him, causing him to turn on his heel, wincing at the increased pressure on his wing due to the action. He quickly straightened out his features and stared at the newcomer to the alleyway.

He was a tired looking fellow, dark circles under his eyes, and an over all 'homey' feel to his aura. Not a threat. Sherlock continued to snarl at his wing and began to tug at the silky black feathers, barely registering as he yanked a few free.

"H-hold on a minute!" the other man rushed out, moving forward towards Sherlock, hands raised, showing that he meant no harm. "Before you tear yourself a apart, there," the man murmured, reaching up to help untangle the wire and setting Sherlock free.

Sherlock kicked the errant line and subsequent clothing still attached away, letting out a soft snort of disapproval at it, before turning back to the slight, blonde man who had freed him.

"There we are," the man said with a kind smile, stepping back and away from Sherlock, rubbing his cold hands together, before shoving them deep into his pockets.

"What's your name," Sherlock said tersely, tilting his head slightly, scrutinizing the man before him.

"John," was his only answer, the man shrugging down into the neck of his jacket a little.

"…It's cold outside," Sherlock stated, before holding a hand out towards John, "Do you have anywhere to go?"

John took a moment to stare back at the odd winged man before him, before slowly shaking his head. "No."

Sherlock simply nodded, before reaching out and wrapping an arm around John's shoulders. "You're coming with me, then."


	4. Victorian AU

John yanked at his collar, a small scowl set upon his features. If there was one thing he hated, truly, it had to be these fancy dress parties he was forced to attend. Honestly, he'd avoid them all together if his rank didn't require him to maintain his good graces with certain families and officials that went to them.

He huffed out a quiet breath and readjusted the mask on his face, before flashing a brief, and very fake, smile at a couple of young ladies who giggled as they passed him by.

Debutantes, looking for a fine gentleman to give them sons and take care of them. Not John's cup of tea.

Finally, he decided standing around in the corner nursing his cup of wine was getting him no closer to leaving the god awful party, so he stepped away from the pillar he'd been leaning against and headed into the foray.

A smile here, a handshake there. Nothing to this socializing business, really, he thought to himself, chuckling quietly as one of his beneficiaries tried to figure out who he was. He had a hard time believing anyone couldn't figure out who he was, even with his extravagant red and gold outfit, and the feathered mask tied around his face.

He bowed when the man admitted to not being able to guess who he was, letting out a laugh before declaring that it would be no fun to tell before the grand unmasking at midnight. He then took his leave and meandered back towards the food tables set up against the wall, set on fetching himself a fresh glass of wine to keep his hands busy.

John only gave the smallest of starts when his fingers encountered those of someone else's hand as he reached for a fresh glass, immediately withdrawing his hand to his chest and blinking owlishly at the man standing next to him, before stuttering out an apology and waving for him to take the glass.

The man smirked at him, nodding his thanks as he took up the glass. He wore a fine black and blue costume, also wearing a mask with the likeness of a bird.

"Are you having a good evening, Captain?" the man asked John, tilting his head a fraction, the tall blue feathers on his mask swaying with the motion.

John blinked in mild surprise, before grinning. "How did you know who I was?" he asked, "No one's been able to tell all night. Not that I'm overly surprised, really. I'm not exactly camouflaged, but still."

The man chuckled, taking a sip of his wine. "Your posture, first. You hold yourself like a military man, even at ease. You also sort of…march. If that's a good word for it? When you walk. As for who you are specifically, well. The hair is a good start, " the man said, motioning towards John's sandy blond locks.

John simply laughed and nodded a little, picking up a glass of wine for himself and taking a sip, eyeing the other man for a moment. "Well, now you know who I am…care to tell me who you are?"

"In your own words, my dear Watson," the other man said, "Where would be the fun in that?"


End file.
